The Real Minerva by Mary Sharratt

Author:Mary Sharratt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HMH Books

While Cora made up the bed with fresh sheets, Penny cooked supper. But she couldn't eat any of it.

"They came by once before," Cora said. "I thought I'd frightened them off for good. I swear, if they ever come back, that will be the last time."

A tremor of fear passed through Penny when she saw the firmness in Cora's jaw. She meant it. If she had to, she would really shoot the Nelson brothers dead. Penny stared at her plate of baked beans and mulled over the story of how Cora had nearly gunned down her husband in this very kitchen. Her rifle was still propped in the corner. She observed Cora's hands, imagined her finger pulling the trigger. The thought jarred her so much, she pushed her plate away and hauled herself out of her chair.

"What is it, Penny?" Cora got up and followed her. "You're still shaking." She took both of Penny's hands. "You're scared, aren't you? Listen to me, honey. Scared is the worst thing you can be."

Penny looked straight into Cora's eyes, green and clear as glass.

"If you're scared, that means you let them win. Get good and mad, for God's sake. Say a few swear words."

All Penny could manage was a feeble shit. Cora went to check the bolt on the door. "It's dark now, but tomorrow morning, bright and early, I'm taking you behind the barn and teaching you to shoot that rifle."

***

They stood ankle deep in the grass. On the other side of the barbed-wire fence, the cow lolled on her side and flicked away flies. Chickens scratched in the weeds. Phoebe babbled in her buggy a few feet behind them. Twenty feet in front of them was the old hitching post on which Cora had nailed a rusty coffee can.

"That's your target. And this is the rifle. First you should learn how to load it. Like this." Penny watched her feed bullet cartridges into the chamber. "Later I'll teach you how to clean and oil it, but now I want you to practice firing it. You have to hold the barrel at the right level." She demonstrated, the rifle butt against her shoulder, her hand holding the barrel steady. "Not too high, unless you're duck hunting, and not too low—you don't want to shoot your own foot. When you take aim, you look down the barrel. Now, this is the lever." She pointed to the long, flat oval lever behind the trigger. "You have to cock the lever downward and back up again between every shot. The lever releases the spent cartridge and chambers the new cartridge. Do you see, Penny? All right, now I've cocked the lever, and you can pull the trigger and fire at the target."

When Cora handed her the rifle, Penny's arms trembled under its weight. Stories raced through her head of deer hunters accidentally blowing their faces off. She recalled Mr. H.'s seldom-used rifle, which he kept locked in a glass cabinet in his study. He forbade his daughters to go anywhere near it.

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